


she loves a pretty face

by ConvenientAlias



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo (Whump Fics) [5]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, F/M, Kidnapping, M/M, Scarification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 06:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15309204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: Erik scars Raoul.Raoul tries to move past it, but Christine won't talk to him, and Erik won't leave him alone.





	she loves a pretty face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keircatenation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keircatenation/gifts).



Raoul’s face didn’t hurt, really. He couldn’t feel the wound on it at all. Instead, he got terrible migraines that felt like they emanated from the depths of his skull rather than the surface. He spent days and nights without number high on opium or whatever else the doctor prescribed. The doctor was around constantly for a while, bringing Raoul down from a fever, keeping his wound clean and the bandages changed, making sure he didn’t get an infection. But he got better. Soon the doctor only stopped by once every couple days. He said the wounds had healed as well as might be expected, and Raoul was lucky there had been no complications. He said they had healed “cleanly”.

When Raoul looked in the mirror for the first time (Philippe had been keeping him away from them for the past month), he wondered what the doctor had seen in his time to call this clean. The left half of his face was a mess from forehead to jaw, covered in wrinkles and knots. There were little pocks of red on it but mostly it was a waxy white, lighter even than the rest of his face which had paled with sickness. He swallowed, took it in. Wondered whether he looked better or worse than the monster who had given him the wound in the first place.

_Ropes tied too tight around his wrists, around his ankles. Thrashing away from the phantom, Erik, who brought the brand closer and closer, eyes squinted with concentration. The first time it touched Raoul’s skin was deliberate, almost delicate, brushing against his hairline, singeing the hair. Erik had laughed at how Raoul flinched away from him._

He came back to himself, leaning forward with his hands braced against the mirror’s frame, jaw clenched. Forced himself to look back. Erik had wanted to destroy Raoul, to make Raoul an outcast, to make him afraid to even look himself in the eye. Raoul had spent the past month recovering slowly, with the support of his family. He had no intention of being destroyed.

He met his eyes in the mirror. One normal, one now surrounded by scar tissue. The doctor had said it a marvel that eye hadn’t been infected and gone blind. A marvel.

“It doesn’t matter what you look like in the navy,” he said aloud, echoing words Philippe had spoken to him on his sickbed. “There are a lot of men who are impressed by a scar.”

He brushed a hand over the rough skin. Gentle, even though the skin didn’t really feel anything so it didn’t really matter. “They’ll be impressed by this in the navy,” he repeated.

He wished he could go off and join the navy already, but he knew he wasn’t well enough. He would have to wait.

He went to dinner without bandages that night for the first time. His mother and sisters were startled, but they didn’t flinch. They’d helped to change his bandages, the doctor directing them. They’d all seen it already.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to leave it in the open, dear?” his mother asked.

“The doctor says it’s healed. The bandages are uncomfortable.” Raoul shrugged. “I can’t wear them all my life.”

He didn’t speak of the cosmetic aspect, and his mother and sisters did not either. Philippe said, after a moment, “If you want, I can commission a mask for you to wear for when you attend public functions.”

Raoul shuddered. With a scowl he said, “I think I’d rather not attend public functions than that.”

“Oh, come. You are a de Chagny—you can hardly avoid them.” When Raoul didn’t respond, Philippe said, “You know, I’m sure it would please that madman to know you became a hermit because of a wound he dealt you.”

“I’m sure,” Raoul hissed, “it would please that madman to see me wearing a mask.”

Philippe chewed and swallowed. “All right, then. Go without one.” He shrugged and laughed. “Soon they’ll be seeing you’re more scandalous than I.”

Public functions. Raoul had never been fond of hobnobbing with society, except for at the opera house. And he’d lost his reason to love the opera.

* * *

When Erik came to visit Raoul, slipping out of the shadows like a breeze, Raoul was hardly surprised. He’d felt Erik’s gaze on him constantly, not just since he burned his face but since long before. He’d heard noises in his room, seen glimpses of movement outside his window. After their last meeting, he hadn’t been bold enough to do as he might have before, and use the pistol he kept at his bedside.

“Have you stopped hiding like a coward?” Raoul said, before Erik could say anything. He’d come up with many speeches he would make if he saw Erik again, all of them concerning how Erik was a beast but Raoul was utterly unaffected by his actions. “I have been waiting for you to show your face.”

Erik wasn’t, actually, showing his face. He was wearing a mask, something he had not done when last they met. Raoul was not wearing a mask or bandages, leaving his scar openly hideous. Against his own will, he put a hand up to his face, cradling his cheek protectively.

No. He couldn’t show Erik any weakness to leap on. He forced his hand back down to his side. His pistol was close; if Erik tried to attack again…

Yet something kept him from shooting.

Erik laughed. He had a loud, high laugh, unconcerned about who might hear him while Raoul was practically whispering. “I’m sorry, Monsieur le Vicomte. Have you missed me?”

“I have been waiting to kill you.”

Erik cocked his head. “Really? But I was merciful, monsieur. I didn’t kill you.”

He stepped closer to the bed. Raoul pushed away from him, backing up to the headboard, but Erik sat down next to him, as casual as if he were the doctor visiting his sickbed weeks before. “I think you did miss me, monsieur. At least I treated you as an equal…No, don’t look at me like that, I did. I did not hold back with you.” He reached out to touch Raoul’s scar, and Raoul trembled. He touched so lightly Raoul couldn’t feel it, yet there was still something violent about those gloved fingers on Raoul’s skin. “Have you grown sick of pity yet, monsieur?”

“My family does not pity me. Nor do I fear it.” Raoul forced himself to reach his hand up and push Erik’s hand away. “If you think you have changed me, you will find yourself mistaken.”

“You are blinding yourself, monsieur,” Erik said. “And after the doctor said you retained your excellent vision. What a disappointment.” He reached out to Raoul again, but this time laid his hand on the curve of Raoul’s neck. “Well, you’ll see how people treat you. By the way…” A smile spread under the mask. “…how’s Christine?”

Raoul said, “Fine. She still doesn’t want to talk to you.” It was delivering this message to Erik that had gotten him in trouble in the first place.

Erik laughed, this time softly. “No, she doesn’t. But a lie of omission is still a lie, monsieur.” He squeezed the back of Raoul’s neck. “She doesn’t want to talk to you either, does she?”

Raoul said, “I’ve been too sick for her to come by.”

“And too sick to receive letters, too sick to send word?”

“She’ll come to see me soon.”

“You’re lying to yourself.”

In truth, Raoul was not lying to himself. In the first week he’d asked for Christine again and again, half delirious. But he’d accepted by now that she didn’t want to see him. It was her right, after all. She’d rejected him for various reasons in the past, and he would respect her will now, even though it seemed like this time they might have parted for good. No, he wasn’t fooling himself into thinking she would come.

But he was hardly going to admit that to Erik.

“She never loved you, monsieur,” Erik said, “anymore than she loved me. She loves a pretty face, and cares little for the soul beneath.”

“If you insult her again,” Raoul said, “you will regret it.”

Erik sighed. Then he leaned closer. Raoul could smell the sewer on him as he brushed a kiss on Raoul’s scar. “The world is not kind, monsieur. When you have accepted that, come to me. We are two of a kind, now.”

Long after Erik left, Raoul could not sleep. He thought about the lair, how carefully it had been structured to contain a man who had no union with the world, who chose to banish himself. He thought about how it had been made to contain one other, originally meant to be Christine. Before leaving, Erik had offered that Raoul might join him.

He wondered if it would ever be possible for him to sink so low.

* * *

The doctor said it would be months before he’d be in good enough health to join the navy. Raoul suspected he was lying at Philippe’s request. Philippe seemed to think Raoul’s sudden eagerness to join up was a thinly veiled death wish.

It was not. It was a life wish—Raoul was tired of hiding on the de Chagny estate, and without a mask, his family had told him it was not wise to go anywhere else…yet. They would not specify when the “yet” would be over.

If it took going to Antarctica to get him out of his goddamn room, fine. He’d go to Antarctica.

It was three weeks after Raoul was off bed rest entirely that Philippe made a request Raoul found entirely shocking.

“Brother, have you considered writing to Miss Daae?”

Raoul gaped.

Philippe huffed. “I’m not suggesting you declare your love to her again, and I still don’t support your interest in her. But you have seemed singularly bored in the past few weeks, and she always seemed to…occupy you.”

“Occupy me,” Raoul echoed. That was one way to put it. Half the time Christine made him feel great, the other half she sent him crashing down into the depths of despair. True, though—there was never a dull moment.

“You must be desperate. Have I been annoying you that much?”

Philippe shook his head. “Of course I am always happy when you are at home, it is only…” He sighed. “Well, I’ll be frank. I’ve spoken to your mother and your sisters about it, and we both think you should talk to her. You won’t move past this until you do.”

“I’m not going to move past this anyway,” Raoul said flatly. He pointed at his scar.

“You are a de Chagny. Trust me. We recover from the unbelievable.” Philippe ruffled Raoul’s hair. “You should talk to Christine. If even I’m admitting it might do you some good, you know it’s serious. And I’ll admit it took your sisters some time to convince me but I am now thoroughly convinced.”

“Christine doesn’t want to see me. I have to respect that.”

“Frankly, I don’t care what the little diva wants. You had half your face burned off in her service. If she can’t face that, she is undeserving of your respect.”

“She deserves…” Raoul trailed off. “She deserves more than I can give her.” He rubbed a hand over his rough skin. “If I hadn’t lost…”

“Then what?”

Then he might have married her. He had already been thinking about whether he might persuade his mother to give him her old engagement ring, as Philippe seemed determined to remain a bachelor forever. He might have married her and had a family with her, even given her his family name. But who wanted a family name and a moderate income when you had to put up with a face like Raoul’s along with it?

“You should write to her,” Philippe said.

Raoul shrugged. “I’ll think about it.”

He wouldn’t.

* * *

“I’ve brought something for you,” Erik said.

It was the third time he’d visited. Every time, he grew a little more bold.

“I brought you a mask,” he said. He held it up. It would only cover half a face, and was made of porcelain with a velvet lining on the inside. He handed it to Raoul, who tentatively held it against his face. It fit eerily well.

“You should wear it,” Erik said. “You don’t leave your house.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Raoul asked. “To bring me shame.”

He placed the mask on his bedside table, right next to the pistol.

He still hadn’t shot Erik. Somehow he froze up every time.

“If you left the house, you could come to the opera house,” Erik said. He picked the mask up again, and held it to Raoul’s face, cradling his other cheek. “I miss your attendance.”

“I don’t like opera anymore,” Raoul said bluntly.

“Forget Christine,” Erik said. “She’s betrayed us both.” He slipped the mask off but replaced it with his second hand, framing Raoul’s face. “Come to the opera house tomorrow. You can wear this or not—it does not matter to me. Sit in Box Five.” He kissed Raoul’s forehead. “Christine is a fickle mistress. Music, now. That is something worth loving.”

He stood. “You know better than to defy me, monsieur. You have more to lose than beauty.”

It was only the next day that Raoul realized his pistol was missing.

* * *

So he went to the opera.

He did not wear his mask. He sat in Box Five, feeling a bit like a pet, and was both relieved and disappointed when Erik did not show up. He sat, and watched dancers and listened to music.

Christine had a solo. She was not a huge star anymore, now that the phantom was not demanding it, but she was still popular and the managers knew how to show her off. Her song was high and intense, and Raoul leaned forward and listened very carefully, and hated himself for how his throat closed up.

Afterwards, he didn’t overthink it. He let his feet take him to her room, walking through a crowd of people who stared and whispered. And without allowing himself any hesitation, he knocked on her door.

When she opened it, she cringed away from him, but she did not shut the door. She stared at him for a while, then pulled him inside. And _then_ shut the door, to prevent any gossipers from looking in.

“I’m surprised you came to see me, Raoul,” she said. Her voice was soft.

“I…I was not well until now,” he said. “Or I would have come sooner. How are you?”

“I’ve been well. He hasn’t bothered me since…I should not have sent you,” she blurted. “Oh, Lord. I should not have…”

She began to cry.

Raoul fished a handkerchief out of his pocket. He held it out to her, and when she didn’t see it because she was too busy rubbing her eyes with her hands, he put an arm around her. She was a little thinner than he had remembered, but still very warm. “I’m glad he hasn’t been bothering you.” _Of course he’s been bothering me instead, but if he were bothering both of us, that would be a little much._

“Raoul,” she sobbed. “Raoul, I’m so sorry.” She grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him into a rough kiss. Her lips tasted of salt, and he swallowed down a few tears before she was finished. Then she pulled away, abruptly regretful. “I’m sorry. How can you want anything to do with me anymore?”

“How can I…what do you mean by that? Of course I want to see you, Christine. I love you.” He touched his lips. She had kissed him a couple times before, but always very quickly, and never like this. This was more like how Philippe kissed his mistresses. He suspected the healthy half of his face was violently blushing.

“I did this to you.” She gestured at him. “I sent you to him.”

“Christine, I would never blame you. I understand if you don’t want me anymore, but I never blamed you for any of this.”

“I might well put you in danger again!”

“Christine,” Raoul said, “I don’t care.”

She let out a choking laugh and kissed him again, this time a bit more gently. Then she kissed his cheek and caressed his scar. For a moment it reminded him of Erik, and he shivered.

“Raoul?”

He blinked. Smiled. “I’m glad to see you again, love.”

That night they went walking by the Seine. Every person they passed stared at Raoul, but he didn’t care. It was the most he’d been out in public in ages, but he barely processed that either. Certainly the evening air was lovely, but Christine, standing by his side, holding his arm, was much more important.

He walked her home to Mamma Valerius afterward and they stood on the doorstep for nearly an hour, talking about what had happened to them in the past month, and what they might do in the future now that Erik was out of the way. Then he began the walk home.

He wasn’t halfway there when the noose fell around his neck.

* * *

He spent almost an entire day tied to a chair.

Erik spent most of the day ranting at him. Telling him he’d been foolish to visit Christine in the first place when she was a fickle whore, telling him she was sure to be lying about loving him now, and really only pitied him, telling him he should give up on her and despair because love never lasted—once Christine had said she could stand Erik’s face, too, and yet she had been lying then, so of course she was lying now, and Raoul was foolish to believe her. Foolish.

Raoul would have stood up for her but after the first hour of argument Erik had gagged him, and so instead he just glared at Erik and waited for the axe to fall. Erik hadn’t wasted this much time talking last time—he’d screamed for only a little while before fetching the brand and a knife and getting to work on Raoul’s face. But Raoul didn’t doubt he’d still get around to it eventually. It seemed he’d become a little attached to Raoul since their last meeting in the lair. He mentioned again and again in the rant that he and Raoul were the same. Were Raoul able to argue, he would have mentioned that they weren’t the same, and the greatest evidence for that was that one of them had spent his evening walking peacefully by the Seine and the other one had decided to spend said evening spying on and assaulting someone. Raoul was a lover, Erik was a fighter (or more aptly, a torturer); the difference was as basic as that.

But when Erik tired of his ranting this time, instead of a knife or a brand he fetched pen and paper. He wrote a note with a flourish and departedwithout explaining to Raoul where he was going.

Raoul waited.

When Erik returned he was still in a mood. He pulled up a chair and sat down across from Raoul. “Since you refuse to admit you are wrong about Christine, we’ll test your faith.”

Raoul raised his eyebrows, hoping he looked nonchalant and not as concerned as he really felt.

Erik chuckled darkly. “You’ll see. I’ll explain it all when she gets here.”

Christine arrived an hour later. Erik had lowered the portcullis; now, seeing her paddling closer, he raised it and let her in.

She walked over to Raoul silently and stood behind his chair, placing her hands on his shoulders. “Why did you have to hurt him?”

“I didn’t hurt him,” Erik sneered. “I’ve simply been offering my hospitality, this time.”

Christine pointed to the marks on Raoul’s throat where Erik had strangled him last night. She said, “He’s shaking.”

“He demonstrates respect for his position, then.”

“And what is that position?”

“I want to offer you a choice, Christine, since you pretend to be in love with this boy so earnestly.” Erik took a knife out of his coat. “Don’t worry—I won’t hurt him either way.”

“Then what is the choice?” Christine’s grip on Raoul’s shoulders had tightened. Raoul wanted to comfort her, but he couldn’t speak.

“Choice one, you leave tonight. I never bother you again. Monsieur de Chagny stays with me. Choice two…” Erik held up the knife. “The two of you leave together. I come back whenever I choose. And you allow me to scar you like I did him.”

Raoul lunged forward. But tied to the chair, that barely accomplished anything. Erik laughed. “See? Your boy would do anything to protect you. But I think you won’t do anything to protect him. Prove me right.” He stepped forward. With one hand he reached up to touch Christine’s face, and with the other he tapped the knife against Raoul’s throat. “I already know the truth of your shallow nature. Prove it to Monsieur de Chagny, who so truly believes in you.”

Christine said, “You may cut me if you wish.”

Erik froze, knife still against Raoul’s skin. “Are you sure you want to make that choice?”

“You may cut me or burn me, whichever you prefer. Or kill me, if that will not satisfy you.” Her voice was utterly calm.

Raoul yelled into the gag, but neither Erik nor Christine paid him any attention.

“I will not let you have Raoul again. I should never have sent him to you the first time.”

Erik stepped back. He beckoned for Christine to come closer, and she stepped forward. Raoul thrashed against the ropes tying him to the chair. Slowly, Erik lifted the knife to Christine’s face. It rested against her cheek. She did not move. Raoul could only see her back. He wanted to look her in the eyes, tell her everything would be okay. He didn’t want her to do this, but if she had to, if she was going to, he wished he were able to hold her hand.

Erik lowered the knife. He put it back in his coat.

To Raoul he said, “It seems you were right, monsieur. The lady has some passing affection for you.” He pushed her away, towards Raoul—she almost fell in his lap. “Or she is able to read a bluff and knows I would not hurt a woman. Very well, the two of you may walk.”

He took out the knife again to cut Raoul free. As soon as he could, Raoul threw himself around Christine, shielding her from Erik with his body.

Erik shook his head. “You dig your own grave, monsieur. This will not last.” He smiled. “Every time she kisses you, every time she looks at you, she will remember me, and remember this night. We’ll see how long she lasts.”

They left together. Christine insisted on rowing the boat. Raoul had not eaten since the day before, and he was weak from fighting Erik too. He still thought he could have rowed, but Christine was nervous. He let her take care of him.

“I don’t see you and think of him, you know,” Christine said as they turned a corner in the tunnel. “I only see the man who loves me.”

“I know.”

Maybe it really wouldn’t last. Maybe Erik’s gift was enough to break them. But Raoul hardly even cared. He was with Christine, who would have been willing to sacrifice herself for him, who would have borne pain or even death. He was beside her, and she had not abandoned him. That was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt of "Raoul, scar to remember" for Bad Things Happen to Good People Bingo. But really I've had this idea, more or less, for a while. Because Erik clearly thinks Christine only loves Raoul because he's beautiful, and that's just not true.  
> Comments would be much appreciated. Or come talk to me on tumblr at convenientalias.


End file.
